The author is a Forbes contributor. The opinions expressed are those of the writer.

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As a journalist, I’m paid to observe others and communicate their challenges and successes, but sometimes the story hits closer to home. At 25-years-old and a reporter at a major-media company, my age seems constantly a topic of conversation. That’s why, when my editor tasked me with writing a series about youth in the office, I knew I wouldn’t need to look far. This is my story.

When I was near 5-years-old, the only child of a single, working mother, I was bored and dying to start school. However, the way the Floridaeducation system was set up, you had to be age 5 by September 1. I begged my mom to let me go, who in turn begged the school to take me, but I was a month and a half too young.

The school board told my mother it was a blessing. The older children usually had an advantage, they said. They may have been right. I loved learning and made an A in every class all the way up through college, except ninth-grade health (skipped too much), 10th-grade woodshop (talked too much) and 11th-grade yoga (still not sure what happened there). When I decided I wanted to accomplish something, I usually did. I became used to succeeding among my peers.

In my first full-time internship at a well-known magazine, still in college at age 20, I expected I’d be fetching coffee. I also promised myself that I’d try to make a mark. I got in early, read multiple newspapers a day, spoke up and pitched stories. I surprised myself when I pulled off multi-page print features and well-received online pieces. One longtime staff writer wasn’t as pleased. “In my day, interns didn’t do this kind of work,” she told me. You skipped the line, her eyes said.

I landed my first salaried magazine job the day after I graduated and started work the following week. I was lucky, people told me. I was 22. Invariably lost in the building the first few weeks, people would smile sympathetically in the halls and ask if I was an intern. I’d assumed my age would be an issue, so wore a rotation of blasé collared shirts and dress pants. But you can’t hide your face.